Living Damnation
by SharkAttack719
Summary: Spartacus. Third Servile War. Slave Revolt. Those are just some words to describe the famous uprising of slaves in the late Roman Republic. But names have faded back into the background from those ancient times. Learn what happened as certain and helpful teenagers help Spartacus lead the Great Revolt. Parts will be M.


**Hey everyone,**

**I know you must be wondering why I am putting up a different story when I'm already working another two other ones. And for those who don't know, I'm working on two other stories. Well, I just got this idea about a week ago and I feel that it has the potential of becoming a good single story. So, I wanted to give this a try. Remember, this is just a trial and if you do not like this story, I will not work as hard on it as I do the other ones.**

**Thanks,  
SharkAttack719**

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**Chapter 1**

He wiped his mouth with his hand as he finished his meal: half a stick of celery, a piece of stale bread, and a cold bowl of porridge.

The shackles around his arms and legs clanked as he pushed the bowl and plate aside. He waited patiently for the Roman guard to arrive at his side to take the bowls and utensils away.

Percy watched as another Roman guard strode up to him in his glorified armor and spoke gruffly, "It's your turn, Greek."

Silently, Percy stood up in his place and held his shackled hands out. The guard took out a key and unlocked the cuffs. Bending down, the guard also unlocked the leg chains. Percy rolled his neck around, stretching it. The rest of the Roman guards turned to him, holding their weapons high.

But he had been in this occupation for three years already, ever since he turned fourteen. He was sold into slavery at twelve, but had killed his previous owners because they often raped their daughters and tortured their servants. Percy did what he thought was right. The Romans found that dishonorable.

At fourteen, he was permanently turned into a gladiator, a supposed punishment. They thought he would have died. Luck, and the gods, were on his side. Percy believed in the gods as much as anyone else did, but sometimes he felt as though they weren't there. Sometimes they seemed to be as transparent as a ghost.

Nevertheless, his luck transferred into the ring of battle. Three years, he survived, an amazing feat for a young boy like him. Truth be told, he had been trained since a little kid by his father, a descendant of the Greeks, so he was not a complete amateur to single combat fighting.

The year was 73 B.C.E. and times were rough in the Roman government. Percy knew he was born just at the right time. A fellow Greco-Thracian, similar to him, had been captured at around the same time as him, though he was quite some years older than him; he was twenty-eight years of age.

They called him Spartacus for he was built like a Spartan himself. Percy was an Athenian, though it didn't matter as the Greek city-states had fallen into Roman hands.

In this arena, there was no mercy, and Percy knew that quite clearly. Originally named Perseus, Percy wanted to become someone like his namesake, who in the stories slew Medusa. He wanted to make a difference. The Romans were expansionists and were unreliable, and Percy didn't like that.

"Out," ordered the guard. "Pick your bronze toothpick, a shield, and loose mail armor. Go!"

Walking forward, he slowly made his way over to the armory as four Roman guards led him out. He picked up his bronze sword that the Romans kept safe in the armory and a random circular shield. He next took a Corinthian helmet and some mail armor that covered most of his chest.

His legs, pelvis and arms were unprotected.

The guards shoved him forward into the arena as he finished dressing before shutting the metal gate behind him. The stands were littered with stands. It was quite a small arena, though it could seat quite a few nobles who lived in the grand city of Rome. Percy could see both consuls, men he had not bothered to learn the name of, sitting in large thrones that were decorated with the finest jewels that were known to the world. He saw the people that had come out to the match; all of them were rich.

The roar of the crowd echoed in his ears as he waited for his opponent to arrive. Pacing around slowly, he analyzed the battlefield. They changed it every time he fought, so today it looked like it was more into the wild.

There were man-made pools of water and small trees that had been planted. Just to add to the fun.

Percy knew that the water could be used to drown his opponent and the trees could be used to dodge around, so he planned his strategy accordingly. He didn't know who he was going to face so he didn't know his opponent's weakness.

Suddenly, the gates opened and a middle-aged man walked out, a confident smile on his face. The man's name was Lucius and was one of the more brutal gladiators. Percy knew that this would be a tough match.

The gates slammed shut, and Lucius sneered at him.

A loud voice shouted from the stands: "Fight!"

Immediately, Percy brought his shield up. Lucius was an average Roman soldier who used to fight in the Roman army, but he was convicted of treason for plotting to kill his master and was sold into slavery.

He was a burly man who stood at least half a head taller than himself. Rumors went around that he was actually half-Gallic, like had a parent from Gaul. That was why he was so tall, taller than the average Greek or Roman.

His strategy was definitely offensive and he used his size to his strength. He held a long sword, at least one of Percy's feet longer, and tried to scare his opponent into staying further away. They would never be able to get a stab or swipe at him unless they had a spear. Romans didn't usually use spears. Neither did Percy. He was abnormal.

Lucius charged forward, holding his sword steadily in front of him. He dropped his shield and thrust forward.

Percy knew that was coming and twisted to the side. The sword struck the shield which such force that a dent appeared on it. The fact that there was so much force behind the blow that it made Percy staggered backwards for a moment.

Lucius whirled around a swiped at his hands to cut one off. Percy parried with his strong sword and their weapons clashed with one another. Sparks seemed to fly as Lucius' sword was deflected upwards, over Percy's head.

Instinctively, Percy jabbed forward, but Lucius, knowing many different fighting tactics, twisted his body. A part of the sword grazed this side of his abdomen, but he wasn't harmed in any serious way. Percy pulled back as soon as he missed, not giving Lucius a chance to grab his wrist to wrestle the sword out of his hands. Being much larger and much bigger, Percy knew he would be successful.

However, one thing that Percy found useful was that if he had the shorter weapon, he had to get in closer to stop his opponent from taking huge, powerful swings. It also prevented them from getting their sword at a good length to stab him through the stomach. It had proven effective for whenever he fought considering most of the men he fought were older and bigger than he was. It wasn't to say he was small but most of the gladiators were bigger men. There were the occasional wimps, but it would be less of a hassle to just execute them. It was cruel but that was how the world worked.

Reaching back forward, Percy landed a good and deep cut along Lucius' thick thigh. The man roared in agony but continued to press forward. He slammed his long sword against Percy's shield, pounding it as much as he could. As much as the shield was giving in, his sword was beginning to wear down. It wasn't to the full extent of Percy's shield, but Percy now had the better sword.

Relentlessly battered back, Percy bent low to get in his defensive stance. He threw the occasional jab with his sword, but allowed Lucius to pound his way forward.

Lucius made one final thrust with his sword and finally broke through the shield. Leaning backward, Percy managed to avoid the sharp point of Lucius' sword. Not being able to push it any farther, Lucius had to tear his sword out of Percy's shield.

Percy slid the shield to the point where it was loose on his arm before spinning it around. The piercing of the defensive weapon had been switched from the top to the bottom. Since Lucius was bigger than him, it was a smart idea to keep the strongest part of the shield at the top.

Then, Percy lashed out with his own sword. Not covering his arms, Lucius made a fatal mistake, one that would lead to the end of his life.

Percy's sword tore right through the wrist of Lucius' empty shield hand. Percy knew that his sword would be heavily damaged from contact with the bone in Lucius' wrist, but it was worth. He tore it out and cut at the larger man's knees. Just as he cut one, the other leg came and smashed him backward, sending him rolling into the dirt.

Lucius grabbed his knee in agony but somehow managed to keep his sword balanced. Percy glanced at the consuls, who both gave him a thumb down. That was all the seventeen year old needed to know. Pity came over him for Lucius. But it was just a matter of survival.

"You'll be free," Percy said in fluent Latin. "Death is far better than life as a gladiator. I hope you enjoy your time."

He leaped forward at Lucius, who was stunned from the two blows, and kicked up straight below the jaw. Lucius flailed backward before Percy came up to him, kicked the mail armor off, and stabbed him through the stomach up into the heart.

Percy watched as life escaped the man's lips with the softest touch, like a puff of air, and how his eyes dulled and dilated, his eyelids drooping just at the slightest.

The crowd let out a roar of approval, cheering Percy's name, his real name. He closed Lucius' eyes as servants rushed into the arena to grab the man's body. Wearily, the servants dragged the body of Lucius out of the arena, his blood trailing on the ground. The crowd cheered again as Lucius' dead body was dragged away into the forest.

Percy angrily tossed his weapon to the side and took off his helmet. He made his way to the gate, which would lead him back to the gladiator's leisure room (which wasn't that leisurely), but the Roman guards stopped him.

"Let me through," he demanded.

"You're not done yet," sneered one the guards.

"My consuls!" exclaimed one of the Roman officials. "Today, the winner of the gladiatorial fight is Perseus of Athens! And as the winner, he will be delivering the cruel punishment of the day. A thief attempted to steal from a noble. He tried grabbing a woman's money and clothing before attempting to rape her!"

"Boo!" heckled the crowd.

Percy turned around and watched as an old man of at least sixty years of age was shoved roughly into the arena. On his way to greet the old man, he swooped down to pick his sword up. He dropped his helmet, however, for he saw no need for that.

As he approached, the servants ducked and scurried away. The frail old man cowered and repeated an incantation under his breath.

"Kill him!" ordered one of the consuls.

Percy gave the man a curious look for a second. Apparently, his accusations were attempted stealing and attempted rape. He didn't look like a man who tried to rape a noble woman. Looks were deceiving, though, and this man probably could have been the most dangerous man in the entire world.

The Athenian boy slammed the point of his sword into the ground right in front of the old man making the man jump. Looking into the seventeen year old's eyes, he pleaded, "They set me up! I didn't rape anyone. I admit to stealing but not to the rape! I have a wife. She's over there in the stands!" He pointed to an elderly woman who sat stonily on the bleachers. Her facial expression was indifferent but her eyes told Percy everything he needed to know. "Please, believe me. I didn't try to rape anyone!"

"You didn't. I believe you."

"You do?" The man looked up at him with hopeful eyes.

Percy nodded.

The crowd jeered them both, a couple of them pelting olives. It wasn't long before the consuls were beginning to get angry. They seemed to just realize Percy wasn't into killing the old man. The guards looked jittery, and when he made eye contact with some of them, they were urging him to go on. It seemed as though they cared for him a little bit, even if it was only just the slightest.

"You do realize that if you let me go, I have to kill you, right?" the old man said. "Otherwise you live and I die. You said you believed I am not guilty. You would let me free, would you not?"

Percy gave him a quizzical look just before he realized the intentions of the old man. Immediately, he brought his sword up and stabbed the man through the stomach. Glaring with angry eyes, he growled, "Dishonorable. You aren't worthy of being Roman. I'm giving you a better opportunity. Death is painless; your life was pain-filled. Next time, think twice before daring to kill a person who wants nothing but to live. And a gladiator at that."

A stunned expression on his face, Percy twisted his sword and drove it up into the man's heart. Organs looked like a bloody mess as he pulled the sword out. Looking back at the bleachers, the stands, he saw the woman holding her hands to her face. Tears escaped the corners of her eyes as Roman legionaries went to take her away.

Holding his feelings back, he turned around and hastily strode away. He heard the gate shut behind him, but he stopped for nothing. Making his way all the way back to the commons room, stripping his armor off by the time he arrived, he sat back down in his seat and clamped the shackles back on himself.

The other gladiators were a little stunned, though it was usual for someone to come back in haste, whether they were angry or sad, none of them inquired. They rarely even spoke to each other, though recently, conversations at night had started up in the locked rooms.

The Roman guards, however, were extremely surprised. They had never seen a gladiator so angry or so sad before. It shocked them to see that the warriors actually had emotions.

How pitiless and dense the foolish Romans are, Percy thought. I, myself, am dense and stupid; but for them to be dumb to this extent is an astonishing fact.

"You all right?" grunted the man sitting next to him. It was Spartacus.

"I hate being here," Percy grumbled sorrowfully. "I want to get out."

Spartacus nodded and grinned. "Oh, we'll get out of this abysmal garbage hole soon. We're working on it."

"Work on it all you want, it doesn't change anything. Look at what I've turned into. I'm seventeen years old and I have killed probably more than twenty men in the past three years. A fight every month or two where either I die or they die. Most would call it good luck. I call it bad luck. Is it not bad enough that I have to endure this life but I must endure the death of others?"

"I promise, this will all be better soon. Mark my words."

"Sure. Whatever."

That night, whilst in their locked room, seventy-seven gladiators grouped up and spoke about a planned escape from this lock up of a place. The seventy-eight gladiator was at the barred window, looking out into the night sky. The moon glistened brightly in the sky, Diana driving it in her dazzling chariot. A nice, gentle breeze blew in from the south, bringing warm air to the room. It was still cold but the four Venti, the north, south, east and west, along with Aeolus and Jupiter, seemed to favor the gladiators tonight.

As the breeze blew in, Percy's mind wandered. He wondered about if any of his family had survived since he had been taken prisoner. He remembered the names of two cousins he had, both Greek: Nikolas, or Nico as he had called him when they were young boys, and a girl named Thalia, like the Greek muse.

He wondered where _they_ were now. Sadly, he hypothesized that Nico was dead, and Thalia was being treated like a sex slave. Looking out at the stars in the sky, he hoped that he would find them again. It didn't matter if they were dead or alive, he wanted to know what exactly had happened to them. When he got out of here, his first mission would be to do that. He had to find his family again.

"Hey, Percy!" Spartacus called. Turning around, he noticed seventy-seven heads turned his way. "You have to come look at this. We've almost got a plan set up and we need you to know where you'll be."

Nodding silently, he walked over to the Thracian man. Scanning the diagram, a small grin broke on his face. "Teaching the Romans a lesson, I see."

"Once we get past the first layer of defence, which shouldn't be hard, we have full control of the weapons cache. Then, we arm ourselves and escape. First destination after we fight our way out of Capua, if we need to fight, will be Mount Vesuvius."

Percy and Spartacus shared a look. Across from them was a big man named Crixus, a Germanic slave who was pretty much the largest man in the room. The three of them caught each other's eyes before each of them nodded.

Turning to look out of the window, Percy said, "Freedom. Here we come."

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**Hey everyone,**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**I apologize for any grammatical errors in the chapter above and if any historical facts are actually wrong. I have spent my time looking through different websites, and even a couple of books, but the story that will continue may have incorrect historical info. Still, I believe it just adds to the effect.**

**With best regards,  
SharkAttack719**


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